When the Line Between a Being Good Friend and Emotional Labor Gets Blurry

“You should be a therapist,” one of my best friends recently told me. She’d just started grad school after a few years of working full-time and found it difficult to get along with her younger classmates. I suggested a practical, if not entirely groundbreaking, course of action that included being more casual with her peers and treating them as colleagues, not unexperienced graduates. And anyway, I sensed it wasn’t necessarily my advice that she yearned for, but an empathetic ear.

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard some iteration of the “You should be a therapist” line, hinting that maybe I’d missed my calling. Most people need an outlet to unload all the messy things that happen in their lives, and for a long time, I wanted to be that sounding board for as many people as I could. The highlights of my high school social life were the frequent let’s-eat-ice-cream-and-talk-about-our-feelings parties, because they gave me the opportunity to prove my worth as a friend. Unload your traumas on me; I’ll be supportive.

I carried that desire to be needed—to be the person someone could turn to—into adulthood, when the dramas evolved from unrequited crushes to painful breakups, career changes, mental health struggles. Over the course of a few weeks this fall, friends came to me divulging baggage on all of the above and then some. Helping those close to me make sense of their obstacles felt rewarding, even if doing so meant I had to monitor my own emotions in order to keep being helpful to them, to maintain a kind of objectivity. But soon the weight of my friends’ problems, which were steadily escalating for each of them, something clear only to me, the emotional caretaker, quickly began to weigh me down. I was emotionally burnt out by being a good friend.

In a professional setting, the act of managing your feelings to fit some kind of organizational standard is known as emotional labor, according to its original definition in sociologist Arlie Hochschild’s 1983 book The Managed Heart. Recently this phenomenon has taken on a new meaning that encompasses the emotional strain women experience while running a household, keeping track of deadlines and schedules, and doing things that are generally “expected” of women (which, I would argue, also includes being a supportive friend). And this kind of behind-the-scenes work in addition to our actual work has mental health consequences. A recent study examining the effects of emotional labor and burnout in female dental hygienists found that excessive emotional work in customer service roles increased the likelihood of burnout, and without a workplace support system, burnout was sure to happen faster.

When it comes to one-sided interpersonal relationships, the party that’s left out in the cold can start to feel bad about the entire dynamic. “If someone is always the one that's listening and absorbing all that stress, it’s really hard for them to feel like they’re getting their needs met,” says Andrea Bonior, Ph.D., psychologist, author of The Friendship Fix, and host of a weekly live chat for The Washington Post. “The danger isn’t only feeling burnt out but feeling resentful when your friends don’t ask you how you’re doing.”

I didn’t want to start resenting my friends, but I could feel my annoyance creeping in. It’s hard to be a good confidante when you’re burning the candle at both ends and then brooding because of it. The empathy I had for my friends is what psychologists call emotional empathy—that is, feeling the weight of others’ experiences, both good and bad. Clinical psychologist and author of How to Be Yourself: Quiet Your Inner Critic and Rise Above Social Anxiety,Ellen Hendriksen says while emotional empathy isn’t a bad thing, shouldering other people’s drama definitely wears us out, and to be a good friend we shouldn’t be required to feel exactly what they feel.

“Usually friends who are in pain, they don’t need a mirror,” Hendriksen says. “They need…an understanding that, in turn, sparks compassion. In a friendship, that [can] be a hug, “Let’s get lunch,” calling or texting with greater frequency. Responding is not jumping in as a fixer, but it’s supporting your friend with genuine concern and care.”

But how can we be there for our friends without being so there that we get emotionally eviscerated? Bonior suggests keeping the focus on your friend’s needs and what you can do to best serve them at the forefront of the conversation. For people who are chronically looking for a sympathetic ear but who don’t seem to be making any progress, Bonior says reinforcing the notion that you’re there to actually help can put things into perspective.

“Say you're in a situation of listening to your friend complain about her relationship and her job and you're exhausted and you're tired of hearing about it,” she says. “The first task is to turn it back on your friend: ‘It’s hard to hear you so unhappy about this. I don’t know how much help I’m being because things don't seem to be changing.’ They have to be able to find a solution. In that sense, you've opened up the conversation about what is the next step.”

If you’re not in a position to offer real compassion and understanding, you’re only wearing yourself down more and preventing your friends from moving on. I wanted to be there for a friend who was going through a tough breakup, but the words of support were laced with vitriol, because I was, honestly, tired of listening. “As women, we’re hesitant to bring up things that are bothering us,” says Bonior, “or to acknowledge with a friend that there’s a problem in the dynamic.”

Instead of digging myself further into a hole, I had a conversation with not only her but a handful of other friends, explaining my need to take a step back for the time being and set some boundaries. And, surprisingly, it worked. (Though if your pals aren’t receptive to your wishes, it could be a red flag for an unhealthy relationship, Hendriksen says.)

After a few weeks, the bitterness I felt toward my friends—through no one’s fault but my own—subsided. I took time to unravel my own complicated feelings about emotional work and what kind of friend I wanted to be, and soon I was feeling refreshed and ready to be a good partner again—to listen, not emotionally but still compassionately.

It all comes down to knowing what your time and your energy is worth, Hendriksen says. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way. “A strong sense of self-worth is crucial to preventing consistent imbalance across relationships,” she says. “People like to be consistent within their own life. If someone has inferred that they’re not worth much, they’re going to search out relationships that match that feeling.”

I still get told I should be a therapist all the time, but instead of feeling a sense of dread, I feel proud. My inner circle trusts me with their heartaches, their questions. They want my advice. Now, though, I don’t feel quite so exhausted giving it.